


Ring Finger

by JoCarthage



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom wonders what it mean to put a ring on Letty's finger. A one-shot I wrote for the same writing exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring Finger

Dom kept looking at Letty’s ring finger. He kept seeing a flash of silver there. When he looked closer it was bare, calloused with grease in the creases. She had a thin slice on the top of her hand--she’d caught it under the engine block of her current scrap-heap-save.

He could see what the flash would look like: beaten metal, sturdy, no jewels, nothing that would catch on a car part or in a guy’s face during a fight. Something simple, that could be a twin of one he could wear on his finger.

He could imagine giving it to her, racing her for it, sneaking it under her pillow, soldering it to the dipstick an afternoon he'd know she’d check her oil. He could see her face--wry, mocking, but still wearing it and wearing it down, rubbing with her thumb when she was nervous or when she was pissed. It would be a little bit like a part of him was always with her.

He could see himself wearing one too, he’d worn her necklace for long enough when she’d been gone. He’d gotten used to its weight and felt its loss. He could see himself rubbing the grease out from under it, see its glint on the top of his wheel when he sped the regulation 1/4 mile between the LA stoplights.

His Ma had had a ring, since she’d been married to his Dad. It had a big rock, and swirling roses in the gold. His Dad’s ring had been plain. He’d seen their wedding pictures; the ceremony, the church, the whole community feel of the thing. His Ma's face had shown when he'd gone through the wedding pictures, and his Dad had come up behind her, setting his dark hands on her shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along her clavicle, pressing a dry kiss to her bunned-up hair. 

He didn't have an eye for dresses, but the dress had been white, it had had sleeves, and she'd been pregnant in it. Not embarrassingly so, but he knew his mother's thin and whippy frame could never support that weight unless it had to. There had been so many people in the photographs, people his mother could name by heart--first and last--and who'd ceased to revolve around the periphery of her life once he'd been born. But the dress was white, and her face was shining with glorious glee.

He couldn’t see Letty in a wedding gown. His sister had thrived in the feminine history of weddings, in the rituals and exhaustive planning, and general silliness of the experience. But Letty? She’d rather tear her eye-teeth out than put on a puffy white avalanche. 

Maybe something with the justice of the peace? At the courthouse? Or maybe bring a padre over, some Sunday afternoon during a BBQ and have him do it then, in front of God any everybody who mattered? His sister could be a witness, and the guys from around the shop should appreciate the free cake.

He thought Letty would like that kind, BBQ, mechanics and blood family and friends, all digging into some Costco cake on Target plates. He knew it wasn't the wedding that mattered, but the life his Ma and Dad had lived together, the future they'd planned. 

As far as he could see, he could see a future between Letty and himself. They’d lived together as long as they’d needed a place to stay outside of their parents’ houses, in each other’s pockets since they were 16. There wasn’t a drawer in that house that didn’t have some of Letty’s shit, and wasn’t a wall or hallway without a scuff or scrape from Dom’s boots. Their families were as joined as they were going to get, with blood and tough lives and taking care of each other.

The marriage part, the ring part, he knew was a formality for what already existed. A public explanation of what they already meant. 

But he could still see it glinting, and wishing itself into being. If he could figure out how to do it right, he’d put it there.


End file.
